I was inside the hermit’s tree, on the damp ground. It hadn’t dried, was saturated in a way that brought me back to the ground beneath Sebastian’s blood-soaked body. I held myself as I shivered, still in my tiny shorts and bralette, the T-shirt peeled off when I was sweating and not-sleeping. I was alone in the woods at night, wearing dangerously close to nothing.

The hermit wasn’t in my mind anymore, but his presence stayed close, sticking to me like cold sweat. He had brought me here, which left a single question throbbing through me, like it was trying to pass through a too-small door.

Why?

I looked around at the dull black everywhere. Lelia’s nature lessons came back to me — this tree was dead on the inside. A curl of coldness tugged at the back of my neck, and I tilted it back. Above my head I saw words that hadn’t been there the night of the fog dance. They had been cut into the tree, more like a scar than a secret message. Thin, black on black, barely there. But the pale scrap of moon cast enough light to reveal a phrase carved unevenly in the same handwriting I’d seen on Imogen’s notebook.

You’re going to get hurt.

The Grays: Now

The Grays look at one another, trying to decide who has to say the obvious thing. June sets her coffee cup down on the asphalt lip of the parking lot and steps toward Danny. “Imogen sent you a message?”

This should be good news.

If Imogen warned Danny that she was in danger, it means that she knows at least part of what’s happening. She’s still with them, even if it’s in tiny chopped-up pieces instead of her whole self. But the message hovers around them like smoke.

You’re going to get hurt.

The bell rings, and everyone else scatters. The parking lot is dead water in thirty seconds flat. Danny starts to move toward the buildings, but Hawthorn grabs her by the hand. “We can’t wait until after school.”

“Should we go right now?” Rush asks.

“It’s worth skipping Econ,” June says, Danny’s schedule committed to memory. “I promise.”

Lelia picks up her feet and starts them running. “And if you only want to skip one class, we’re leaving now.”

“I don’t really want to be taken somewhere without my knowledge or permission again,” Danny says, trying to sound sarcastic, but her voice crawling toward tears.

Hawthorn twists her hands together, wanting to touch Danny on the arm or shoulder — some comforting, nonthreatening place — knowing that she has to wait for Danny’s okay. “If Neil wasn’t dead, I would ruin his life.”

“Really?” Danny asks. “I thought he was your . . .”

“Nope,” Hawthorn says, clapping her hands clean. “I didn’t know him. The Neil I thought I knew would never do that.”